Shifting Perspectives
by Acharion
Summary: A collection of drabbles, double drabbles, and other pieces usually under 1,000 words that don't really merit being published on their own. No promises that they'll be in chronological order.
1. Different Meanings

There were three things that we could call Fingolfin's children: half-cousin, cousin and half-cousin, which sounds repetitive at first, but really isn't.

Half-cousin is harmless. It is the truth and most accurate, for our only shared blood comes from our grandfather Finwë. It's what we call them most often and it was the only thing our father allowed us to say in his house.

Cousin is slightly more insulting. It raises memories of the disputes between Fëanor and Fingolfin. It is always said in deceptively sweet voice, when an elder is present, an imitation of kinship that no one in our family truly feels.

But half-cousin is cruelest, the term that Celegorm prefers. The same words, with a different tone can have vastly different meanings. It's is what we use when alone, spoken with a hint of mockery and insult, as if they could somehow control who their father was. A reminder that those boys are just lower-born princes in the presence of Finwë's true heirs, products of a marriage that Fëanor viewed as illegitimate.


	2. Lying Lies and Dirty Secrets

"You must judge me harshly. For leaving Maitimo to his fate"

"No, cousin, I don't. Not anymore. When we first arrived here yes, but I realize now that things are different from what I once thought. The power of the Noldor lies in our united strength, and I see now that we cannot risk losing all for the sake of one." A silent understanding passed between them.

"Will you stay with us, Fingon? We have rooms to spare."

"No, but thank you, Maglor. I'll return to my father's house this night."

"Will you take a guard, at least? The passage between our camps isn't always safe."

"No, I will be safe enough alone." He stood to leave.

The king sat silent for a moment, then finally spoke. "Fingon, just promise me you will not do anything rash? Please? I would grieve to lose you as well."

A sad smile parted the boy's lips. "Of course not, cousin. I promise you I won't. I will see you again soon."

"Goodnight, then, Kano. Safe travels."

Fingon left the King's quarters, thinking on the seeds of lies he'd just sown.

"I'm sorry, Maglor." He thought as he departed. "I must go to him."


	3. My Brother's Boot

There was a brief, blissful moment when I woke up where I thought that I was dead. Maybe the back of my skull had been shaved off in the heat of battle, and now the surviving bits of my brain were melded into the floor. What was left of my head seemed bolted there so...

But it wasn't reality. I wasn't given the gift of death.

It was just the drink. It was only the wine from the night before that had laid me so low.

My head was ringing. Pounding. Every sound assaulted me with a spur of pain.

My brother's boot was rudely pulling me from the sweet fantasy of dreams into our harsh reality.

I wrenched my head up from the ground, with no little difficulty, and looking beside me, I remembered Amros' death. It was better for him. Better to be slain in the bravery of battle than live a cold life alone and eventually fade away. Better for him not to be weighed down with the burden of these children.


	4. Noldolantë

Maglor descended into our room, swirling like a dark wind.

He placed two thin books before us. "This text will comprise your lesson today" On the hard, black leather surfaces was embossed "Noldolantë".

"Read it. When you come to your lessons tomorrow, Maedhros will be there. You may present us with any questions you have after reading this. They will be answered honestly."

He seemed distressed, but I was unsure why.

He left as quickly as he had come, a night disrupted by brimming storms.

What could this book contain that would drive him to be so awkward with us?


	5. Pendulum

Ultimately, I could have been a pendulum, easily swinging all through life towards my zenith, a beautiful arc of accomplishment that even my father could have been proud of.

But my father was dead, and that graceful arch of achievement had been struck askew by some unfriendly hand. Set into disquiet by one careless motion. Or maybe instead by a series of reckless actions. It was my own hand, I suddenly understood, that had upset the elegant motion of my life. I was trapped in these ideas, caught like a meandering insect in a spider web.

I would never know, I thought, startled by the realization that should have been so obvious, how my life would have gone had I not followed my father to Formenos on that unquiet, foggy morning. On that day I had closed a door to a passage filled with assurance and love, and now I would never, ever be able to hold the promise of that time again. I would never again know anything but brotherly love.

Perhaps, had I not been so careless, I would be a father now, bobbing a smiling child upon my hip after I dried his youthful and innocent tears. I might have been a respected musician, playing in the courts of kings, accepting congratulations on my prodigious skill. A good husband, one who is there to comfort his spouse in times of worry and discontent, an unyielding and steadfast presence in her life.

I could have been those things, I thought. Those things, rather than a bedraggled warrior, kneeling in the mud of Middle Earth, black blood soiling my clothing and clotting on my hair and face. Those bright happy things that were beyond my reach now. I might have been them, rather than a pitiful king, with the position thrust upon me by circumstances that were so far beyond my control. Bearing a burden that I had never enjoyed or wished for, even in my most jealous dreams.

But there was, I supposed, beneath the ruin, a pendulum still stirring. A pendulum I could not so easily interrupt. An arc of motions that may someday lift the weight of the Oath from my neck. One day, someday soon I hoped, I would hold the precious gems in my hands again. I would bathe myself in their brilliant white light and be remade new, clean and pure. With this thought in mind I could rise, and play at being King again, without the thoughts of what might have been troubling my mind. The Oath overcame all else, as it always did.


	6. Pondering

It was a pleasure to ponder our cousins when we were gathered together. Fingon was peaceful and gracious as always. Turgon hated my brothers and me with a vengeance that few could surpass. And Aredhel was clearly flawed, for she was fond of my brother Caranthir, and _nobody_ was fond of him. I loved him with brotherly duty, but he was cold and harsh.

Finarfin's children were poised, perfect, immaculate, as they always were. How my unsteady uncle had produced such elegant beings was a mystery. Finrod almost matched Maitimo in grace. Nerwen was stern and proud. Maybe the journey across the ice had chiseled them into the impeccable forms that sat before me.

Beside them perched my brothers and I, a harried disarray. Looking like beggars compared to our lower-born cousins. Only Celegorm matched their beauty, golden hair spilling over his strong shoulders. My hair was pulled back in a simple plait and Caranthir's was in not even combed. Curufin's was huddled in shadow, speaking with Amras. We all wore simple travelling clothing while our cousins wore the majestic raiment that befitted their status.

We did not belong among them, and I realized with sadness that we never would.


	7. Tutors

I had found a piano, deep in the rooms of the palace that we were now expected to call home.

I drifted towards it. Maglor had taught me for many long hours upon the piano, and I knew that many beautiful melodies could issue forth from my fingers, whispering over the keys.

I played, for how long I do not know, all the songs that Maglor had taught me. Beautiful pieces that I thought were special and secret in my heart.

After I was done with an especially heartfelt song, I heard Gil-Galad's voice behind me.

I stood suddenly, almost overturning the piano bench I had been sitting on moments before.

"I didn't know that you were an accomplished musician," and his voice echoed around the empty room, more beautiful than the music I had been making before.

"I suppose we know some of the same works," he ventured.

I turned to him with a questioning look.

"He tutored my father with the same pieces he taught you."


	8. Who told you?

I turned to my cousin, "Who told you, Fingon? To go to him?"

His eyes met mine, bewildered. "We all knew, Maglor, that he had been captured...you told me that yourself."

I shook my head heavy with grief, and relief and unshed tears. I could hear my words going too far before I'd said them "No I mean how did you know to go to him? That he didn't betray you at Losgar? That he stood aside when we burned the ships. That Maitimo wanted to go back for you? I thought only my brothers and I knew, so who told you?"

The question hung on the air. A look of heartbroken awe overtook his features and I then had my answer.

"You didn't know. And yet you went all the same"

Shame burned at my throat at that. To know that my cousin had dared what I had not.


	9. Glimmers of Hope

I had convinced myself that Maitimo was dead. Before then, I could not find rest and barely touched my meals. I had become an abnormal wraith before the sundered people I ruled. I was wracked with endless guilt, a hot band around my chest that constricted every breath. I went to bed uneasy and sleepless but felt that I could not rise in the mornings. The only glimmer of hope was that Maitimo was dead, that he didn't suffer under the hand of my heartless decision.

Believing him dead was now the only thing that roused me in the mornings.

Beyond all reaches expected bravery, Findekano had returned, bearing my twisted and broken brother in his arms. Completing the task that I had chosen not to undertake. In the same action, shaming me and overwhelming me with thankfulness.

He had done what I thought was not possible. He had stolen from me the unpleasant belief that Maitimo was dead and not drowning in suffering for the long years that I left him, alone, to bear the hard weight of Morgoth's malice.

I knew I would witness my shame daily. For Maitimo bore the scars of Morgoth's cruelty upon his face.


	10. Headfirst

I flew into the light you'd created and didn't give a pause or a care for what it meant. I was burdened by the weight of your creations from the moment you showed them to us. Was that night born out of fantasies or was it real life, I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure, for I've seen them little since we pledged the Oath and yet i still seek for them. Tirelessly, endlessly, until my doom is sealed with their ending I think. Your last words to us were not a testament to your great legacy, nor a simple gesture that might have shown love to your sons, but a begging plea that we would not forget the Oath. That you, all in ash now, would have wanted us to do. I will follow you, father, but only because of the light burning bright behind you and the memory of your fair body turned to ash.


End file.
